Complainte de la Butte
by Ekai Ungson
Summary: This is you. This is me. We stand at separate corners of the room, of the world, but we are forever bound to each other.


Complainte de la Butte  
by Ekai Ungson  
  
legality: CLAMP/Kodansha owns CardCaptor Sakura. Characters used without permission.  
  
official summary-like thing: This is you. This is me. We stand at separate corners of the room, of the world, but we are forever bound to each other.  
  
An Eriol-Tomoyo angstfic.  
  
For Meemee.  
  
*  
  
'Si tu veux savoir combine je t'aime, compte les vagues.'  
  
*  
  
In the center of a slumbering world, two beings hold each other, loath to let go. One hokds on for dearest life while the other clutches back, in order to save his soul. They cling to each other, bathed in a small circle of light, awake while all the world sleeps, and know that they are distinctly alone, even when they are with each other.  
  
*  
  
'I'm sorry' is such an empty phrase.  
  
It promises you nothing. It does not assure you forgiveness. It does not alleviate pain. It is something you say out of sheer politeness alone, because if you truly were apologetic you would do something more than just say 'sorry'.  
  
And so you hold me, while over and over you say that phrase, that accursed phrase. Perhaps you imagine that if you say it enough it will be enough to make you think that everything is back to all right, to normal.  
  
My love, how wrong you are.  
  
You hold me close to your heart, you always do. Close enough for me to hear your heart beat. Once, I told you, I liked being held like this, by you. When you are close enough to entangle your fingers in my hair, close enough to take in lungfuls of my scent, close enough to lose yourself within me. This is the way you want it, the way it has always been. And you think nothing has changed. You lose yourself in an illusion of familiarity.  
  
It is virtually impossible to talk to you about change. You think that cataclysm of any sort will destroy every web, true or no, that you built meticulously around yourself. It is depressing and comedic at the same time. 'No man is an island,' I say, and you laugh outright because you know that the adage is not applicable to you. You have lived a life too alone.  
  
You always have to be in control. You have this need to manipulate life and people in ways you see fit to squeeze them perfectly into the molds of your little world. And when they are not-- well, you try not to think about that. In your world, everything should be the way you believe it to be.  
  
And that is why I let you hold me tonight, this way, the way it has always been. I do not want to let you go because I do not want to hurt you any further. I will hurt you enough with what I am about to do.  
  
It is enough.   
  
Exactly one week ago, you, having run out of things to say to deter me, simply asked, 'why?'. I suppose you thought that you could find a loophole in my reasoning and I would not continue what it was you wanted me not to do. Maybe, you thought, I would stay and you wouldn't have to change anything or adjust to anything, the way you would inevitably have to.  
  
But you know as well as I do that I cannot exist within a fallacy, I cannot live with a lie.  
  
You will be shattered at the break of noon. But I think you already know that.  
  
'Stay this way,' you whispered.  
  
I won't move, for tonight. If that is what you want.  
  
*  
  
'Stay this way.' It's a pathetic, desperate attempt to break you, to melt you. I know. I try to think of something else to say, something colorful, something intelligent. Something that, if I said it correctly, would make your knees weaken and make your heart beat. Maybe poetry. But all I can attempt is 'stay this way'.  
  
It's a last-dirch effort to make you stay, this holding, this exchange of whispered words, this listening to each other breathing. And I know you oblige me because this is the last time-- The Last Time I'll ever have to hold you close and whisper words of longing.   
  
I love you. Those words were not worn out one million years ago, but these days they have lost their meaning. Too many people tell too many other people 'I love you' that the impact, the force is not like before.  
  
I tell you I love you and it will have no effect on you.  
  
That is because you're running away.  
  
What else, then, have I to say other than this? Something with as much impact, as much force, for you to stiffen and listen? I hate you? But I don't hate you. I am pathetic and desperate, hopeless to a point, but I do not hate you.  
  
'Where did I go wrong?' I ask, and I feel you slowly shake your head. Of course you will give me no answers. Of course you will make me search for my mistakes alone. You will give me no clues, offer me no map. And so I will go off alone, and when I return I know you will no longer be here.  
  
You will be leaving. I know that and I accept it, even if I don't like it. Nobody can ever stop you from doing what you want. This is you, trying to escape from this world. Maybe it is because you got too comfortable here. You liked it here. And you fell for me.  
  
You are in love with me. I want to hear you say it, admit it. Maybe then you can learn to accept it and you wouldn't have to run away. You wouldn't have to convince yourself with your own reasoning to talk yourself into leaving. Because I know you don't want to go.   
  
And your heart of ice will melt, and it will beat, finally.  
  
You know what? I'll never leave you.  
  
If you promise me the same thing.  
  
*  
  
In the center of a slumbering world, two beings are finally robbed of their wakefulness. They lie in each other's arms, one releasing a resigned sigh, and the other smiling a smile devoid of joy. They both know what will happen tomorrow. But both ponder exactly how they got there in the first place.  
  
Silence reigns, the way it always does, and that is how they came to be-- because they let the quiet get the best of them both. Both want to implore the stars for an unattainable wish, but know that it will only be an exercise in futility.  
  
If only they try.  
  
Tomorrow, he will wake up before she does because he likes to watch her sleep. He will tear himself away from the vision and will attempt to go about his life as if there is nothing wrong. And then she will wake up and shake her head ruefully as she watches him try to fill the gaps in. Both of them.  
  
At noon she will have packed her bags and ready to leave. He will carry her things to the door where a cab is waiting. They will talk about legalities when they are far away from each other. Now is not the time for such heartlessness.   
  
She will give him one last kiss, for old time's sake, and she will feel all his passion, all his pain. She will realize how wrong they both are, and the warmth of that thought will cause her heart to beat again. She disregards that fact, because she has to go, now, the cab is waiting, her bags are packed, there is nothing else here.  
  
But him.  
  
He will stare after her as she rides away for a long time. He will sit on the front steps unwilling and unable to move. Then night will come and overtake him, and the porch light will open in time with the lampposts.   
  
He has nothing to hold, no one to cling to him. He is left alone, bathed in a small circle of light, the way it has always been.  
  
  
  
  
  
-Owari-  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
notes: crud, that was weird. i know and i take full responsibility. ¬.¬ rants and whatever else are welcome and appreciated, as always. ^-^ 


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